Wunderkind
by xxxPiratePrincessxxx
Summary: Spirited away from the safety of Narnia, Lara Pevensie finds herself in a world completely different to her own. A blacksmith - a governor's daughter - a pirate - and one heck of an adventure. It's a long way back to the wardrobe. JackxOC WillxElizabeth
1. Birth In Narnia

***peeks out* DON'T HURT ME! I'M SO SORRY! LISTEN TO MY EXPLANATION FIRST BEFORE YOU START THROWING...well, I don't know, pillows maybe?**

**The thing is, an event happened in my life (le gasp!) that practically crushed me. I'm gonna cut out all the gory details, but basically it shook me a little, and I actually forgot all about the story. I'm back now, not quite better, but getting there :) **

**Please don't ask what it was – it's rather painful to talk about. Either way, here is the new, updated version of the Lara story! (sorry nineteennintytwo, I just couldn't do it!)**

Narnia stood, beautiful and proud, Cair Paravel a majestic city of gold shining over it. King Peter had married, a stunning nymph named Alexia, and it was that morning that a baby girl's squeals broke the silence. Susan and Lucy rode on horses from their hunting party, Edmund saililng in from Caramond that morning.

"Do you think we've missed the birth, Su?" Lucy gasped as they rode frantically towards the gleaming castle.

"I hope not!" Susan said in reply, jumping off her steed and not even bothering to tie it up in her haste.

Edmund came running round the corner from the harbour, joining Lucy and Susan as they ran to Alexia's bedroom.

They burst in to see a tired and pale Alexia, joy radiating from her beautiful face. Tall, willowy, eyes a captivating sea green, hair dark as the night sky, Alexia Ridiata clasped her baby girl close to her as her handsome husband King Peter stood near, pride shining from his carved visage. Peter gently took the baby girl from his wife and turned to his siblings, his smile reaching his ears.

"Susan, Lucy, Edmund – meet my daughter." He said, and handed a white bundle to Susan.

The siblings peered into the blankets. A small face stood out at them, topped with tiny wisps of blonde hair, eyes closed. Susan smiled and inserted a finger to the baby's pink face. Bright green eyes slowly opened, and the infant blinked, yawned, and looked up into the faces of her aunts and uncle.

"Oh she's LOOKING at me!" Lucy squealed, flapping her hands about.

Edmund frowned.

"She seems to be more looking at Su, to be honest."

"_Shut up_, Edmund. You don't know the first thing about babies."

"Well, neither do you Lucy," Susan added honestly.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Does she have a name?" Edmund asked loudly over Susan and Lucy's arguing. Peter was on his knees by Alexia's bedside, holding her hand tenderly. He looked over to his brother, and his mouth dropped open at something behind the trio in front of him.

"Her name is…" came a powerful voice behind the Pevensies. They turned to see an immense golden lion behind them.

"Aslan!" They cried, the girls and Edmund running forward and embracing him. The lion chuckled and nuzzled them, but he gently brushed them off and padded over to Peter holding his daughter. Even as tall and muscular Peter was, Aslan reached his chest and Peter leaned down slightly so that Aslan and the baby were face to face.

The baby stared up at Aslan with quiet interest, her starfish hands curled into fists on her chest. The noble face leant down to her level, his whiskers brushing the tip of her nose. She wrinkled her nose, letting out a tiny sneeze. Behind Aslan, the sisters 'awwed' at the cuteness of it all. Edmund rolled his eyes. After a few seconds of silent observation, Aslan brushed a lion's kiss onto the baby's soft cheek and withdrew, his muzzle twisted into a smile.

"Her name is Lara Ophelie Daefaria Pevensie – Princess of Narnia. My gift to you –" Aslan bowed his head toward Lara's beaming parents " – and the gift of having the bravery and strength of a lioness." Aslan leaned toward Lara again and pressed his paw gently against her heart. A golden glow spread from his tawny forepaw and it spread throughout her body. And, with a last smile at the elder Pevensies and a rub of his great head against Lara, Aslan disappeared. Alexia turned, her face suddenly worried, to her husband.

"Peter – you know the consequences of one of Aslan's gifts…"

The High King laid a hand on his wife's hair.

"Not now Alexia – later. Let's live in THIS moment." Peter's blue eyes pleaded with Alexia's of green, until Alexia sagged and leaned tiredly against the head board in resignation. Peter smiled and kissed his nymph, handing her the newly-named Lara. Alexia enclosed long, slender arms around her baby, rocking Lara gently.

Peter leaned down and kissed his daughter's forehead lovingly.

"Lara Pevensie – welcome to the world.

**Special thanks go to NeverlandChild for her encouraging reviews and constant support :D **

**Do you like it? Love it? Or do you really hate it? (NOOOOOO!) Only one way to find out! REVIEWWWW!**


	2. Taken

***lights light up around a walkway, spotlight shines on xPPx***

**D-darling reviewers?**

***waves a little white flag***

**Er...Parley?**

6 YEARS LATER –

As the horizon lightened with the first bright streaks of dawn, King Peter lay comatose, the slightly-aquiline nose creating a brooding silhouette against the white silken bedsheets he lay upon. Alexia's slender form curled like a twisting vine around her husband, both united in the blissful ignorance of sleep. Not a whisper echoed in the silence, nor a griffin's cry from the grounds outside. The air quivered with the inevitable break in the almost-perfect scene.

Suddenly, the carved bedroom door was thrown soundlessly open, and a dark, impish figure stole across the room to the magnificent four-poster bed dominating the chamber. The heavy drapes pulled across the nearest window shifted slightly, moving with the breeze outside, and a single ray of sunlight filtered through the crack, picking out a head of blonde curls as the shadow danced over the stripe.

Drawing closer, the figure reached out and –

"Daddy?"

"WAAARGH!"

Peter jumped a foot into the air, one hand whacking the oak headboard in a shocked spasm, the other groping blearily at the hilt of the dagger lying on the bedside table. At the same time, Alexia, reacting instantly to the shout of her partner, woke with a start, leaping straight out of bed to fling open the curtains, letting the sun stream in and reveal the intruder.

In the full glare of the Narnian morning light, Lara Pevensie stood innocently in front of her father, doll tucked under arm and blinking uncertainly at the unexpected actions of her parents. Peter immediately uncurled his fingers from the blade he had grabbed moments before, sighing in relief as it dropped to the carpeted floor with a muffled _thud._ Against the picturesque backdrop of the rolling hills and sloping peaks of the landscape outside the window, Alexia was illuminated by a halo that left her flawless features, now softening into a smile, glowing with both the rays that hit her and the ethereal beauty that accompanied her wood nymph form.

Recovering faster than her husband, she strode quickly across the room to pick her daughter up and sit her on her lap, automatically moving her arms to accommodate the small body seated on her knees. Lara took a look at her father, who was still disentangling himself from the slippery sheets, and continued smoothly to Alexia what she was saying before.

"Mummy," she said, "Can I have a unicorn?"

Peter, having finally pushed the folds away from his legs, made an unintelligible sound in his throat and dropped his forehead against both his raised palms. Alexia laughed, realising Lara had resumed the never-ending argument that had begun since her last birthday.

"Well you said to ask you in the morning!" Lara replied defensively. "Anyway, Auntie Lucy and Auntie Susan are coming today, Mummy said. And they'll let me, won't they?"

A note of hysteria rose in her voice at the silent expression on her mother's face. Seeing this, Alexia hastily assured her of her aunts' arrival, and of COURSE she could have a unicorn (followed by a muffled snort from Peter) and once she had tended to her queenly duties, she would take her to the Singing Fields to meet them.

Satisfied by this, Lara hugged Alexia, leant upward to peck her father's cheek (grudgingly letting him ruffle her curls), then skipped off to her bedroom adjacent to theirs to change. Peter stretched, popping the kinks in his spine, then rose, swiftly placing a kiss at the corner of Alexia's mouth. He let his forehead rest against hers for a moment, regaining his strength before he dealt with all his daily royal procedures. With a sigh, he stood back up and proffered his hand to his wife.

Alexia slipped her hand into his waiting palm gracefully, grazing her thumb lightly over his slightly-calloused knuckles. Squeezing it slightly, she relinquished her hold and called in her handmaids – two lithe dryads worthy of her status – and they dressed their queen silently, quick fingers joining the gold fastenings and draping the silvery wraps around her shoulders.

Peter dressed himself, in robes of scarlet, a breastplate of gold carved with the insignia of Aslan, and finally a chased golden crown, his literal 'mark of office', the points of each spike tapered and the base nestled perfectly on his head. In all his years as the High King, not once had his crown needed to be adjusted to his growing body.

They passed the guards waiting outside their room, two tall centaurs with glossy chestnut flanks and strong, muscular torsos. At the sight of the king and queen, they both bowed as deeply as they could, their backs arched, necks curved.

"Calios. Archios." Peter acknowledged, Alexia nodding politely.

As they went by, he reached out and tapped Calios's shoulder, two heads above his. A pair of dark irises moved quickly to meet his.

"Calios, I know I have permitted the young princess to enter my chamber, but from now on, I would prefer if she came at more _suitable_ times, do you see?"

The centaur grinned, flashing a sliver of white between his thick lips. Lara, having been blessed by Aslan, was generally greeted as more than a king's daughter with the animals and such, seeing her more as an equal than the human king and nymph queen.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Good. Resume your positions."

They glided past regally, dismissing the guards at the entrance to Lara's room. Alexia pushed her fingertips through the slightly ajar door, sliding it open with ease.

Lara's room itself rivalled her parents'. The floor was the aquamarine, shimmering fabric that the water dryads had spun themselves with their deft digits, so that when Lara's bare feet would touch it, it would seem as if she was walking on the rippling sea. Now and then, a brightly-scaled fish would flit suddenly beneath the enchanted waves, drawing to the surface when eager, petite fingers dipped toward them.

The room itself was small compared to the vast, spacious rooms in the many corridors of Cair Paravel, but as Lara was only six years of age, it was hardly appropriate for a cave to be allotted to such a small subject, even if she were the princess. At the far wall a large pane of coloured glass, hewn so that anyone could see out of it, but any passerby from the outside would have no vision of Lara's private quarters, so serving as a one-way window. It also cast splendid colours dancing across the room when the sun shone particularly hard, as it did at the peak of a summer in Narnia, the glass being from the magical forges of the Cyclopes and so a constant myriad of ever changing colours.

The bed had been made specially for Lara and her – condition. A small cubby hole had been cut into one of the walls; the height, width and depth enough to house a substantially large wardrobe. A notch had been cut so a blind could be drawn down over it, and in the snug area there were silken pillows and throws, as well as an immense duvet that filled nearly the whole space. Shadowed away from the bright window light, there were the ghosts of dents and scratches in the walls, reminders of the particularly fitful nights that followed extensive bouts of emotion. As a precaution, there was a symbol carved into the wood-panelled roof of the hole – to be pressed in the event of utmost emergency. Never had it been, but with the speeding rate of Lara's maturity came the increase of the 'episodes'. There were no risks taken with such a fragile barrier between normality and Lara's _other_ self.

The best of fabrics and magical threads had gone into the bursting wardrobe that belonged to the princess. Deep pinks and scarlet, lush blues and greens, the velvety softness of naiad-stitching that was as soft as rose petals – all drawn together to create dresses and wraps for more than the needs of the daughter of the High King. Scattered around were beautifully-crafted toys, regularly handled and played with. Not the glassy-eyed bears or flimsy ragdolls of the British youth, but Golden Orbs, that could be blown like bubbles and emerged as moving Griffins and Harpies, popping only when squeezed, which at that time would burst in a downpour of stars and bells. Lifelike replicas of dwarves, mechanisms that jumped and croaked and chirped without the need of a wound-up key – and in the midst of it all was Lara, back to them as her maid fastened the crossing laces at that joined Lara's garment together.

Peter and Alexia climbed over this catastrophe, manoeuvring toward where Lara was chattering without reprieve to her handmaiden Dana, who listened with a distant smile as she straightened out the folds gathering at the bottom of her sky-blue dress, which seemed to be exactly like the colour – the white lace at the bottom drifted lazily above the floor in airy clumps, swaying like clouds along with Lara's movements. Alexia paused momentarily to take in Lara, her Lara, who had seemed only yesterday to be a tiny infant curled in her arms. She was an average size for her age – slender, like Alexia, but there was a general hardness in her arms and legs that suggested lean muscle in the future. The curve of her cheek, just visible as she tipped her head to one side, was like Peters, sharp and curving inward, dints on either side for cheekbones once she lost her youthful softness.

Lips darker than a normal young girl – inherited from her mother – and a pert nose too pointed to be perfect – Peter, surely. Under the care of indulgent parents and a happy, bright childhood brought a sparkle in her eyes and roundness in her limbs and torso, not enough to be plump, but a little more than the average child. Her eyes, in fact, were green, wide, with the iris larger and brighter than most, dark lashes fringing the top lid, the brow above thick, curving far above on the high forehead.

Her hair was blonde, almost golden curls, long and swinging at her waist. Dana reached for the hairbrush, only to be stopped as Peter laid a restricting hand on her arm. He took the brush from her, silently bringing a finger to his lips, then began to gently pull the bristles through each of the thick locks, smiling as Lara continued her prattle, not noticing the sudden change of Dana's efficient work to Peter's slow, careful care. He paused, bringing up a few strands and rubbing them between his thumbs. Against the pink of his skin, Peter wondered at the coarse texture and strange colouring of his daughter's tresses, and as he closed his fingers around the rough layers, he remembered the grainy, comforting feel of stroking a lion's mane.

"Daddy?"

Lara had finally noticed his presence. Peter returned Lara's welcoming grin, quickly tying the weight in his palms with the emerald ribbon lying on the table in front. With difficulty, he managed a lopsided bow, returning to Alexia's side this time with Lara's warm, small appendage resting in the crook of his palm. They walked silently, passing rooms of wonder and rooms of magic and rooms filled to the brim with plain, swear-by-your-auntie chamberpots – all drank in by the wide, strange eyes of the castle's princess.

And time did what time does – it passed, filled with the sweet nothings of royal everyday life, shadowed by the dark periods of the ever looming shadow lurking forever inside Lara, and, ultimately, a constant at the back of the monarch's minds.

The promised event arose as the Narnian sun dipped gently in the sky, as if reluctant to sink behind the darkening horizon, the citrine rays fading to a glowing orange, then, as a select group of nobles cantered quietly through fields of knee-length reeds, a faded blush bloomed over the celestial sphere above, blushing at the antics of the beings it watched over. It was impossibly bewitching.

Lara stared blankly at it, looking but not seeing, her impatience making her almost conceited, as if the dazzling display before her was second to her own desires. Narcissism amongst those of high-brow societies tends to run deep amongst those regal roots. Balancing her small chin in the cradle of her palms, she watched afternoon merge into evening, and felt only anticipation at the arrival of her aunts and uncles, uncaring to the duties her mother and father tended to. Such was the state of mind of the sheltered princess.

Sighing, she watched a tendril of smoke snake across the deep valley marking the boundary of Cair Paravel, into the Unknown. _I think it would be nice, _Lara thought idly, _if that was dragon's breath. _For a girl of her age, Lara had also an unusual, and in some cases, dark imagination - cultivated by the magic of Narnia, and of course the life of ease she led. And then there were the strange whisperings of her father, telling of another world, one of machines that roared like infuriated Efreets, and the wistful, dream-like tone he talked in when of _England..._

And it was that choice moment that King Edmund the Just decided to plunge his tickling fingers around the nape of his niece's neck.

"N-n-noooo...Uncle Eeee-dd st-o-ooooopp!"

Lara fell from her window seat to the floor, pursued by her merciless, grinning uncle and his occupied hands, the long digits of his right hand wriggling expertly at the base of her throat, the other at her ribs, both hands causing Lara to writhe about in convulsions of protesting -laughter, each giggle punctuated with a cry of 'S-stooop!' and, more frequently, 'Daaa-aa-dyy!'

The aforementioned father watched in amusement, propped up against the doorframe by his elbow as Alexia beamed at his side, chuckling lightly along at her brother-in-law's actions. As Lara's protests became more discomforted, Alexia tapped her husband on the shoulder, gesturing with the wave of one sweeping hand to release her chortling daughter.

"Ed," Peter called over Lara's screams. "I think you've greeted her enough now."

With a last snort-inducing wriggle, Edmund withdrew, and Lara sat up shakily, grinning so widely her face seemed to crack into two. Tears still glistening in her eyes, Lara hefted herself up, this time looking around with searching eyes.

"Uncle Ed, where's Aunt Luce and Aunt Susan?"

Edmund swapped a knowing look with his sister-in-law.

"Er...they're a little pre-occupied at the minute, sweetpea," Edmund said, his eyes bright with a strange mischievous glint.

A clutch of servants scurried out of the way as they descended the red-carpeted stairs (pun not intended), led by Peter and Lara and tailed by a whispering Alexia and Edmund, black against brown heads leant together in a fervent conversation. With a growing suspicion at the back of his mind, King Peter shot slightly worried, slightly why-aren't-you-including me looks back at his giggling wife and brother.

They left the castle, and Lara slipped off her boots to run alongside the moat, across the carpet of springy verdant moss, with the softly chuckling stream meandering its peaceable way beside her. The party did not bother to ride to the Singing Fields – it was too tranquil an evening to waste on the hard backs of their steeds. Besides, Lara, although she would never admit it, found that horses did not yield to her charms – in fact, they shied away from her, afraid of something she did not intentionally possess.

As they walked ahead of the men, Alexia caught Lara as she ran past, the knee-length blades of grass tickling her bare, smooth arms, and pressed one, two, three kisses on her Lara's cheeks, love inspired by the antics of her child and the sheer beauty of the near-night bursting unrestrainedly from her soul. Lara lay in her mother's arms for a precious minute, and then broke away in pursuit of another fleeting fancy, in the form of a sable butterfly flitting amongst the cream-white flowers climbing up the walkway.

Edmund also had something to do, or rather say - he and Peter conversed quietly, with Peter breaking into a grin as they reached the meadow that was the Singing Fields, cuffing his brother playfully across the shoulder.

"Ed, you're an absolute brick. She's going to love it."

"What?"

Lara had been listening carefully to the last sentence, and marched up to the speakers, drawing up to her full height of three foot two to half ask, half demand the giants above her of the information they deprived her of.

Edmund opened his mouth to answer, but was quickly nudged by Peter, prompted by a nod forward to follow his gaze.

Alexia was embracing a tall, enchanting woman of about 25, a circlet of pure white gold set with a resplendent diamond resting on her thick, dark waves. Dressed in an exquisite azure gown, the shimmering fabric rustled as the queen broke from Alexia and knelt in the pasture, arms spread open.

"AUNT SU!" Lara whooped, tripping over herself to throw herself into her laughing aunt's open arms.

"Easy, darling, you'll break your gift!"

Lara immediately jumped away, elated. Susan grinned, full red lips splitting open to reveal her even, white teeth. _There truly is,_ Lara thought as Susan reached into her gown, _none prettier than my Aunt Su. _

Her delicate, white hand withdrew with a small key, threaded with a single red ribbon, between her fingertips. Lara's face fell.

"Thank you." she said dully, accepting it as it was pressed into her palm.

"Oh do don't sound so monotonous, Cub," came a voice from behind them.

Queen Lucy, glossy brown hair loose around her shoulders, radiant in a simple red gown, the prized possessions from Father Christmas so many years ago at the belt around her slender waist, and clasped in her gingerly extended hands –

"BY THE LION'S MANE!"

Everything passed as a blur from that moment. It consisted mostly of enveloping anyone she could reach with lavish hugs, squealing, more hugs, and cuddling a warm, furry mammal to her chest at every moment possible.

The key proved quite essential – it did, after all, unlock the cage holding her prize, and she slipped it reverently into the collar of her frock as they all sprawled out on the calm plantations of the Singing Fields, utterly and blissfully content.

Lara was cradled between her parents, head in Alexia's arms and the remainder of her slight body across Peter's lap. Edmund, Lucy and Susan were at some distance away, lying back in the waving grass and naming the dotted pinpricks of light that were the Narnian constellations.

"The Arrow...the Centaur...Oh look at that one! Looks a bit like you, Lu..."

Curled up on her chest, the bright, inquisitive eyes of her new pet stared at her, chittering softly as she immersed her fingers in his fur and scratched behind his practically non-existent ears. Yes, he was not a unicorn, but, as she felt him purr with pleasure underneath her nails, she wouldn't take that spoiled horned horse any day.

_Besides,_ she pondered, _seeing as it's a monkey, maybe Mummy will let it sleep in my room..._

As that thought entered her mind, a low whistle echoed across the fields, and Lara sat up, listening keenly as other whistles followed the first.

What most did not know about the Singing Fields were the origin of its name – how the thirty sprites who followed the Witch had been caught and cursed, some say by Aslan himself, and thrown into the fields bordering Cair Paravel, just before Lantern Waste. They were condemned forever to sing mournfully in the Fields, lamenting for the night sky above them, where they had before had lived and loved, the invisible song rising from all the tainted soil.

Peter carefully tipped Lara onto Alexia's lap, then lay onto his broad back, eyes closed as the creatures of his kingdom fell silent to the Air Sprites lament. It was a queer song in itself – neither sad nor joyous, merely a longing thrust out from the trapped beings in the form of music. They sung at precisely this time, when the Moon showed herself to Narnia, and sent torrents of wind down to Earth, as was her nature.

A breeze skittered over Lara's skirt, sending the flower she had plucked earlier swirling in the air currents. Unperturbed, Lara watched it dance in the air currents, smiling dreamily as she imagined its petals to be feathers, its stem to curl into a proud head, and a dove formed of the bloom to spread its downy wings and sail amongst the currents as it did so freely now.

Alexia radiated earth power, her nymph blood holding some of the essence of the woods itself, and here, in the melding between the two elements of Earth and Air, she repeatedly combed her fingers through her daughter's rough tresses, as if trying to smooth that rough texture into petal-soft locks. The monkey, with his tail curled around his mistresses' neck, let out a wild cry, a blood-curdling howl that mingled with the harmony and sent shivers down her spine as her pet's tiny claws dug a little into her shoulders.

The melody rose as the gale peaked, an unbearable yearning that raised something warm and lovely in Lara's chest, and then subsided as the draft wavered and disappeared. Lara suddenly felt tired, a little drained, as she did every time she was taken to the Fields, and snuggled into Alexia's gown, the monkey clinging onto his perch as Alexia tenderly hoisted her up, cradling her in her arms.

Giving a sigh of contentment, Lara let herself be carried, pressed against the sweet-smelling bodice of her mother's dress and lulled to sleep by the lowered voices of her loved ones.

She vaguely felt the castle's low thrum of magic, then the muffled creak of her bedroom door opening as Peter took her from Alexia and transferred her to the alcove. She burrowed into the duvets, the opulence of the fabrics worth their credibility, and fell into a sound, placid sleep.

The first feeling she felt was that in the ever-warm space of the alcove, there was a chilling frost that had settled on her skin. Lara raised her hand curiously and saw the pale glow in the dark, the mottled pink-red on the underside of her fingers strange to her eyes. Her monkey was already awake, stock still and whooping that same warning chatter that had woken her. Turning her head to the side, she saw a woman, impossibly tall, standing over her bed. Something stalled her movements, clouded her thoughts. She saw through a blurry mist, and every move she made seemed to drag through the air. Lara thought briefly about screaming as her gaze drifted to the woman's face, but her mind was too numb to think of the sharp, rousing fear that could save her and she only lay, helpless in her own body, as the woman smiled icily and leaned over to grab the small mammal shrieking for all it was worth at her.

There was a fine boned radiance that she had about her face, and sweeping cheekbones prominent under the snow-white skin. The woman seemed to breathe ice, even under the wraps and layers of furs and feathers; her hand was a raw vice around the struggling monkey's body. Although Lara was fixated on her features, she could make out the column of body beneath, striking and powerful, so still she could've been carved from marble. _She's like a glacier,_ Lara thought dimly, _those floating islands adrift beyond Archenland. _

These thoughts collected in her hand, and piqued a spark of life into Lara. Mustering her strength, Lara reached out and took the monkey from the imposing figure before her; slightly surprised when she retrieved him he was subdued into a drowsy, dream-like state.

"W-who are you?" she stuttered, slurring over the letters that tumbled clumsily from her mouth.

"Sleep, child."

That voice. That voice, laced with poison, with hatred, packed with a double timbre that reverberated inside Lara's skull and drove spikes of dark magic beyond the mental boundaries binding her to her world.

Then something cold passed over Lara's face, and her whole world exploded in a mix of shapes and colours and sounds, and she thought briefly of her parents as her Narnian self passed over into the next realm.

And then to Narnia, Lara Ophelie Daefaria Pevensie was no more.

**OHOHOHOHOHOHOHO**

**Yes, I love you too! There's really no need for those tens of thousands of pillows you're aiming at me!**

***realises something***

***whimpers* M-mummy?**

***scarpers***

**xPPx**


	3. Little Girl Alone, Little Girl Found

Will watched bleakly over the choppy, violent waves, and felt the stirrings of unease in his nine-year old belly. A short, haggard-looking woman stood behind him as he leaned on the splintered balcony rail, her thin hand on his shoulder. William Turner looked up into his mother's face, and saw the years of heartache and hardship etched into her once pretty features, the result of raising a three-year old son alone when her husband left to be a merchant on the seas.

In a way, Will resembled his mother in many ways – the same wide, solemn forehead, that was still unlined even in her early thirties, long dark lashes, straight, un-arched brows that were more often inclined to furrow in difficulty than to rise in laughter, and a narrow nose that filled out slightly at the peak, that gave femininity to Will's masculine features, inherited from his distant father.

Will's mother's faded blue eyes glanced down at her son, and a soothing smile tugged up the edges of her downturned mouth, giving him some small comfort at least.

"Don't you worry, love." Mrs Turner murmured, stroking Will's thick, dark-brown hair. "That's just a passin' storm. Come inside, and I'll have you some molasses from the spoon before bedtime, aye?"

"Yes, Mum." Will replied, letting his mother pull him away from the small port lookout, where people were beginning to gather to watch the sudden disturbance tearing apart the seas in the distance.

As they walked, Will observed the late-afternoon sunlight dapple his worn mustard shirt with differing blotches of shade and light, and as he looked upwards to watch a brightly-coloured butterfly trace its path across the leaves, his large, naive eyes were illuminated, revealing pure hazel irises, like liquid bronze, with a slight tilt to the corners that made them appear childish and almost baby-like.

When they'd trudged up to their dingy, white-walled cottage hidden under the canopy of stoic oak trees, Will's mother caught sight of an old friend passing on a lane beneath them, and quickly hurried down to talk, leaving the serious looking boy with the too-short breeches stood where that lonely, dilapidated homestead was, high up from the rest of the harbour town and obscured by forest all around, with only wide, open hills and fields stretching into the distance behind.

Will pondered on this as he absently lifted the rusty door latch, and then gave a sharp hiss as his finger caught on the sharp notch, drawing blood. He watched the silky red liquid run down into his nail, and as it continued to well up in large bubbles around the cut (wiping it against his shirt gave no halt to the flow) he decided that this was probably one of those times that the clear, stream water was required. He'd use the full basin in the stone basement, but some sort of green algae had built up as scum on the rim and he doubted that the contents were particularly sanitary.

Sighing, he took the wet, squelchy path around the midden to the river, pinching his finger to stem the flow. As he neared the copse where the stream ran through, something heavy and acrid assaulted his sense of smell, and he narrowed his eyes and saw a twist of smoke curling from between the lush, thick branches. Fire.

But how could a fire build up in such damp weather, and humid conditions? Forgetting his wound, Will involuntarily touched the rope-bound hilt of his knife as another, more frightening thought entered his mind. Smugglers. They were camping out next to the stream, on the outcrop where there was only one rundown, solitary home, waiting for the chance to sneak down to the village and steal valuables from the unsuspecting folk.

There is a strange compulsion children have when faced with such situations. It reflects their true age, no matter how serious and mature they may be. It is the urge to _look. _This urge counters all instincts of danger, fear, and common sense. Many adults are guilty of this foolish curiosity, and William Turner, a young, simple, impressionable boy, was no exception.

Creeping forward stealthily, Will felt the floor of leaves under his feet crackle softly as he grew near, and a curtain of overhanging vines screening the entrance waved gently in the breeze, brushing velvety leaves over his skin as he passed through.

Taking a deep breath, Will felt a chill rise in his throat and sweat break out across his palms, nearly dropping his blade. He crouched low – and peeked at the stream haltingly from behind his sanctuary.

A young girl lay splayed out on the embankment, lying in the middle of a smoking crater.

Will blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Blinked again.

There was a girl in the middle of the forest. In a crater. It was obviously SHE who had hit the ground with such an impression, with such a violent impact she had streaked like a blazing comet and burned everything within a metre radius around her.

Will took another look, this time slower, tensed. From her apparel, she could've just come out of bed, with a frilled, decorative night frock on that looked out of place in a poor village's forest. Her golden-blonde hair obscured most of her face, but from the roundness of her cheeks and the childish proportions of her small body, she was perhaps six, maybe seven years of age.

Moments dragged by, and Will waited nervously for her to rise. After about five minutes, a thought occurred to him that worried him slightly. Was she actually ASLEEP? Or worse, unconscious? Was she hurt?

Thinking deeply, Will decided that a possibly-injured-maybe-asleep six year old girl in the middle of nowhere was not a threat, and stepped slowly forward.

He knelt beside her and brushed away her thick, lengthy hair. It felt rough and unusual, not soft at all. Her skin was fair, and she had long, dark lashes that fanned out on her ruddy cheeks. She had a pampered look about her, and she was slightly plumper than the under-fed children of middle-class society. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was bent into herself, curled in a ball. She breathed softly and steadily, and further inspection only brought forth dirty feet. Her pulse was normal. She really was asleep.

Settling down next to her, Will felt, for the first time in a while, excited. He felt restless and lively, and once even considered poking her to wake her up. Just as his patience was wearing thin, she stirred, shook her head, and her eyes flickered open, revealing a placid, muted shade of green under her lids.

It took her a few seconds to shake away the bleary mantle of wake, then she properly opened her eyes and stretched her neck and shoulders. Her hand dipped in the cradle of her arms, then again, and she gave a gasp, unfolding her limbs to search around her chest area. Snapping upwards, she cried at the sight of a damp forest floor beneath her, and the earth staining the white of her gown. Her head whipped wildly around and she grew slightly mad at seeing Will, backpedalling on her hands and beginning to whimper.

"It's OK! It's OK!" Will reassured her, reaching out a hand instinctively. This drove the girl to tears and she shook with shock and terror, sobbing immediately for her mother and father, and some other garbled mix of names that he managed to pick out 'Jack', 'monkey', and 'Aunt Su, Lu, Uncle Ed,' from.

"W-where am I?" she wailed, and she clung to the trunk behind her, her small finger scrabbling at the bark. "Where's Narnia? It was that horrible ice lady, wasn't it?"

Narnia?

Ice lady?

Oh.

Will understood, with a wave of pity. This poor, unwanted little girl had been abandoned by her parents in the woods, and from the look of her had been here hours. The loneliness and shock had driven her hysterical, and it was common around these parts that weak mothers and fathers to leave their children to fend for themselves in the forests, when times were hard.

Well, that was easily solved. He'd take care of her. Something warm and proud swelled inside his chest, and he felt assertive and calm. They were not rich, but there had been that recent windfall from his mother becoming a seamstress, and she'd often complained there had been no girls in the house to help her with her work. _Plus,_ Will thought with a grin. _I've always wanted a sister. _

"Hey," he said softly, placing a hand on the girls shoulder. "It's alright. It's OK. You're lost, aren't you?"

The girl looked up with round, tearful eyes, and nodded.

"That's OK, then," he smiled. "Where do you live?"

Sniffing, the girl shook back her hair and looked a little imperious as she said "Castle Cair Paravel."

"Alright then," he said gently. "We'll get you back there, no worries. And find your 'Jack', and whoever else you want. In the meantime..."

Will stood, and held out a hand.

"Why don't you come with me? I'm sure you'll want something to eat, yes?"

"Do you have a Marshwiggle prepare it for you?"

"Um. Yes, I suppose so. Are you coming?"

The tears still glittered in her bright, green eyes, but a smile ghosted across her face, and she slowly placed her hand in his extended one.

"What's your name?"

"Will Turner."

"Mine's Lara. Lara Pevensie."

"Well," Will laughed, tugging her to her feet. "Hello there, Lara."

She giggled, and her fright faded away at his deep, soulful brown eyes. He was fun, and she liked him. He said he'd find Jack for her, didn't he? Mummy and Daddy wouldn't mind if she just spent a little bit of time with him, would they? Drawing her breath, Lara gave a huge, cheerful grin, like she'd seen her Uncle Ed do when he was pleased.

"Hallo, Will!"


End file.
